Mr. Unavailable #111: In Between Appointments

To start from the beginning of the #111 story, see (in this order) Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show, A Boy in Man's Clothing, The Doctors Visit, Giving Him the News, The Appointment and The Sad Ultrasound for the background on this one.

My State of Mind: Allow me to briefly describe the kind of state I was in during the period between when I saw #111 for appointments: I was barely functioning. Unable to put things away or clean, my apartment was in tatters. Going outside was painful. Being at home was painful. I didn't even have the attention span to watch a movie, and certainly not to read a book. If I did attempt to watch a movie, I could only watch it on my laptop with it directly in front of me. Even then, my mind wandered, or I'd start to cry, or I'd desperately want to cry but be unable to. I was alternatingly numb and distraught, completely dried up with misery and unable to understand how he could just walk away. As I said several times during the breakup: "You didn't even give it a chance."

The Between Time: The day after the ultrasound, I was so unhinged I went to see my old therapist. I hadn't been there since January, so I had to quickly catch her up. The short of it, as I yelled then cried then yelled again: I didn't want to be done with him. She suggested that I tell him I want us to be friends as we go through this and that I was concerned about him and how he was because he was going through this, too. I have to admit: Up until this point, I and everyone I talked to was so concerned about whether or not he was treating me right (which he was and wasn't) that it never even occurred to me to see how he was doing with this accidental pregnancy thing.

My shrink asked if there was anything that I could ask him to. I mentioned the New Yorker Festival and then texted him, composing it in her office, asking him if he still wanted to go and saying I'd like it if he would come because I thought he would enjoy it. He texted me a few hours later, guardedly declining. I said I wanted to be there for him as he had been for me. He wrote back sounding a little softer but said that he wouldn't have been able to go anyway because he had taken a later shift at Housing Works. That made me feel a little calmer but I was still desperate to clear my conscience (had I been selfish?), so I asked if I could take him out for lunch to see how he was doing. He said we could talk later about that. I knew it was unlikely I would hear from him but felt better for trying.

The next night I had a horrible, admittedly twisted, realization. Lying in bed, going over the details of the breakup and subsequent pregnancy for the twelve-zillionth time, it suddenly occurred to me: Would he have stayed and tried to work on things if I'd said I wanted to have the child? I met Allison out for breakfast the next morning. "Probably," she said. Even though that would have been horribly manipulative and not at all what I really wanted, all I felt was anguish that I hadn't thought of it earlier--or, perhaps some subconscious wisdom prevailed. Either way, I had completely lost my mind. Nora had to talk me down. "I think you dodged a bullet," she said. "This is who he is. He's not capable of an adult relationship. He's not evolved."

That night, overcome with massive abdominal pain and all of its bloody details, the reality of the situation hit. I had never felt a maternal urge, but an unfamiliar regret was bubbling to the surface. I felt awful. Curled up in bed in physical agony (welcome relief from the relentless emotional kind), I was glad that the pregnancy was never viable because if ending it had been my decision, I may have regretted it.

I felt like he should know what was going on and emailed from my phone, underneath my covers, to tell him. He called me about an hour later to ask if I was OK. At that point, I was delirious but said I was OK (Heidi later told me they usually give out prescription painkillers for this sort of thing).
"I think it's getting better," I said. Then I asked him how he was.
"I'm OK," he said. "Just doing laundry."

"Strong" #111 was back. He asked when my next appointment was and I said maybe I could take him out for breakfast after. He said we could talk about it later. I knew that for him--being "strong" and all--not saying "no" meant "yes."

I figured I wouldn't hear from him until just before Wednesday, but he surprised me by emailing me Monday night to see how I was doing. I asked how he was and he said he was keeping busy, which, for him, was revealing. The night before the appointment, I was on edge. My shrink had recommended we just talk about "all the things we don't have in common"--in reference to the ridiculous statement he'd made the week before about us not having anything in common. But I also needed to ease my mind, say some things I should have said months before. I wanted him to see why we'd been together in the first place, thinking it would make a difference, still thinking the breakup had something to do with me.

Diagnosis: For him: The open, vulnerable #111 that I witnessed for about 30 minutes the week before is gone again but...
For me: ...I keep believing the open, vulnerable #111 will return. I saw it, it exists. Otherwise, in even thinking to use the pregnancy in an effort to keep him around was a low point, one to which I hope I never return. I'm just glad I didn't think to act on it when it would have mattered. Between that and the state I'm in, clearly, I have lost my mind.